


Musketeers Don't Die Easily

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [45]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Dragon Riders, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Porthos du Vallon, Hurt d'Artagnan, Hurt/Comfort, Peril, Whump, hurt dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-23 18:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30059604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Fed up with the musketeers continuously foiling his plots, Boudier lures them and their dragons into a trap they won’t be able to escape.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

Louis bent over his desk, holding a quill to one of the many official documents that had piled up for him to sign. His hands trembled with weakness, and after the ink went jagged not once but twice in the middle of his signature, he threw the pen down and cursed it, himself, and this wretched disease that was draining the life out of him day by day. It had been weeks since the pervading lassitude had set in, robbing him of both physical and mental energy. Handling affairs of state was the last thing he wanted to do.

But he was getting pressure from his Council and so he'd dragged himself from bed to do some work. If only he could sign the bloody document.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his chest. The dose of opium from that morning was wearing off. He wouldn't be able to do any paperwork after taking another, but it wasn't as though he was in much shape to do some anyway.

With a resigned sigh, Louis reached into his pocket for the vial of carefully measured tonic and took a sip. He frowned at the lightness of the vial; it was running low. He'd need Doctor Delacroix to mix up some more soon.

A knock rapped on the door, making Louis groan. He couldn't stand to hear any more business today.

The door cracked open and none other than the royal physician poked his head in. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have some ill news."

Louis straightened abruptly. "What is it?"

The doctor swiftly shut the door behind him and strode toward the desk. "I have just received word that my latest shipment of medicines has been stolen." He hesitated. "Including your opium."

Louis blanched, his hand automatically drifting toward the nearly empty vial in his pocket. "Can you get more?" he asked, voice nearly cracking.

Delacroix shook his head reluctantly. "It will take a few weeks at least. It won't arrive before you run out. There's more, though. I received a ransom note for the shipment." He produced a folded piece of parchment and held it out.

Louis took it with a frown to read. Whoever had stolen the goods was willing to return it, for a hefty price. The note also instructed his Musketeers to bring the payment, but no dragons. Louis's hand trembled as he held the parchment. He hated to give in to thieving demands, but he was running low on the opium, and without that… No, he needed to get that shipment back.

He nodded slowly. "Thank you, Doctor," he said, voice steadier than his quavering nerves.

Delacroix looked grim as he bowed and left.

Louis called for one of his attendants and told them to send for Captain Athos and Minister Treville. He would have to use the gold reserves to pay the ransom. How fortunate the earlier theft of that had been thwarted. Perhaps his Musketeers could find a way to get the shipment back without having to turn over the gold; surely they were capable enough. Yes, no doubt they could retrieve the stolen medicinal supplies and arrest these heinous thieves who dared to rob the King in the first place.

Louis was feeling more confident by the time Treville and Athos arrived, and he calmly laid out the situation and his desire for the Musketeers to bring these thieves to justice.

"They specifically said no dragons," Athos mused out loud as he looked over the ransom note.

"Yet also requested the Musketeers handle the exchange," Treville added, also with a thoughtful tone.

"No doubt they don't want to risk a lowly messenger deciding to run off with the gold themselves," Louis huffed.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," Athos said, "we have no idea how many are involved with this theft. Without proper intel, I can't guarantee we can successfully retrieve the shipment by sheer force alone, especially since they will be on the lookout for any dragons."

"It's better if we don't negotiate with these mercenaries at all," Treville put in. "The loss of the shipment is regrettable, but we can take measures to secure the next one."

"I need _this_ one!"

Treville and Athos exchanged a silent look at Louis's outburst.

He inhaled sharply. "I don't care what it takes, Captain Athos, I need this shipment retrieved. In its entirety." Well, that wasn't really true; he didn't care as much for the other supplies Doctor Delacroix had ordered, but he couldn't exactly say which part of it he truly needed brought back.

Treville was eyeing him shrewdly. "This shipment is mostly medicinal. Is there something I should know?"

Louis faltered. He had kept knowledge of his illness strictly between him and his physician. No one else could know. And yet…he had trusted and valued the counsel of these men for some time now…

"It contains medicine I am in need of," he said stiffly, consenting to share that much at least. "There is no time to procure another shipment."

Treville looked shocked and alarmed, while Athos was as unreadable as always.

"I wasn't informed you were ill," Treville started.

"I am receiving the best care modern medicine can provide," Louis said with more confidence than he truly felt most of the time. "But I need what's in that shipment." He then skewered them both with a severe look. "No one can know about this. I cannot afford even a whiff of weakness while this war still goes on."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Treville said, still sounding stunned.

"Good. Now retrieve that shipment."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Athos said with a bow.

Louis watched him and Treville leave, then sank back into the chair behind his desk and dropped a weary head into his hand. His Musketeers had to come through for him on this. They simply had to.

.o.0.o.

Raymon Boudier walked among his men as they checked their weaponry in preparation for what was to come. He'd gathered his best, a whole score of the toughest guns for hire he knew in the business. So many times the Musketeers had thwarted his careful planning and executed schemes. Not this time. The theft of the King's medicines was only a lure. The Musketeers would come to deliver the ransom payment—or stop him, as they were wont to do—but this time Boudier would finally be the one to come out on top. He would get rid of them once and for all.

He stopped by the cart filled with various acimite armaments and picked up a spear to inspect the obsidian alloy. He'd had to go to great lengths to replenish the stores those bloody Musketeers had taken from him after that fiasco with the dragons in the wild. How those same four Musketeers just kept showing up out of nowhere when Boudier was about to make a huge score defied the laws of odds. So this time he'd made sure to stack the deck.

"Didn't you tell the King no dragons?" one of the men spoke up.

Boudier scoffed as he set the spear back down. "No doubt they will be nearby. But we'll be ready for them."

He shared eager grins with the other men.

"You lot will take the house. The rest of you will take the woods along the road. I've set a lookout so we'll see the dragons coming long before they arrive."

Yes, they would be ready this time. They would be ready for all of them.

.o.0.o.

After getting the gold payment from Treville and conferring on the location mentioned for the exchange, Athos returned to the garrison to inform the others about their mission.

"What's so important about this shipment?" Porthos immediately asked.

"Yeah, why is the King giving in to a bunch of thieves' demands?" d'Artagnan echoed.

"The King requires medicine from this shipment and there's not enough time to get more elsewhere," Athos replied, keeping his voice low despite the fact they were behind closed doors in his office.

His friends all straightened at that.

"Are you saying the King is sick?" d'Artagnan said.

"Sick with what?" Aramis asked in concern.

"He didn't say. And this is not to be spoken of ever again outside this office," Athos warned.

They all quickly nodded at that.

"Alright," Porthos said. "So we're goin' to make the payment?"

"The King would prefer if we could retrieve the shipment without having to turn over the gold," Athos answered, his dry tone conveying what he thought of that prospect. "But without intel on who we're dealing with, we'll have to see how things play out."

"They were smart enough to specify no dragons," Aramis commented, having picked up the note to read.

"Indeed. Which puts us at a disadvantage. Our priority is making the exchange, though. If we then have an opportunity to apprehend these thieves, we'll take it."

They exchanged another round of resolute nods and then headed out to saddle up their dragons. The thieves may have said no dragons at the exchange, but that didn't mean the musketeers were going to head out on horses. They'd land the dragons a mile out from the rendezvous point and leave them as backup.

The location for the exchange was a decent distance away from the city, and dragon flight cut down on travel time significantly. Athos pulled a spyglass from his saddlebag as they approached the rendezvous and tried to get a look at the area while they were still far enough out not to draw attention. It was a lone house of stone in the middle of nowhere, with a dirt lane running north and south between it and a patch of woodland. Athos couldn't see anything that stood out from this distance.

He packed the spyglass away and signaled for the dragons to land on the road about a mile down from the house. The musketeers would go in on foot from there.

"Keep an eye out," Athos instructed the four dragons. "We'll return shortly."

Aramis pulled his musket from its saddle holster and carried it loosely as they set off.

There was still no sign of anyone as they arrived at the house. Not any horses, or even a cart that might have contained the stolen shipment. A squat stone wall surrounded one edge of the property, which appeared abandoned.

"Where are these thieves?" Porthos muttered.

"Perhaps they're inside?" d'Artagnan posited.

Athos scanned the area. He didn't like this.

"Here," he said, handing Porthos the pouch of gold. "You and d'Artagnan take a look inside."

The two of them set off toward the house while Athos and Aramis hung back, eyes peeled against the surrounding foliage. Not even a blade of grass seemed to move.

A few moments later, Porthos re-emerged out the front door. "No one's in here," he called over. "And neither is the shipment."

Before Athos could respond to that, gunfire erupted from the woodland across the lane. Porthos scrambled back inside the house for cover while Athos and Aramis dove behind the stone wall. Musket balls pelted the rock and the house. Athos drew his pistol, took a breath, and shot up from his cover to shoot back before ducking down quickly again and fumbling to reload. Aramis did the same. Athos heard breaking glass come from the house and what sounded like Porthos and d'Artagnan trying to return fire as well. But there was too much gunfire and Athos couldn't get his head up long enough to get a line of sight on their assailants.

He thought about ducking around the back of the house and coming around the other side, but he'd have to make a mad dash from the wall to the building without getting shot.

Aramis deftly reloaded his pistol and shot up to return fire, dropping back down again as more rounds skimmed the top of the stone wall.

Athos was seriously thinking about taking his chances when he spotted fizzling sparks rapidly moving along a line toward the house from the back. His eyes widened in horror.

"Porthos!" he bellowed.

But it didn't matter—he and d'Artagnan couldn't run out the front door without getting gunned down—and the fuse was just about to reach the base of the wall.

The house exploded in a massive shroom of smoke and stone.


	2. Chapter 2

The concussive blast wave of the explosion reverberated in Aramis's bones and left him briefly stunned where he lay hunkered down behind the stone wall. Bits of rubble rained down all the way where he and Athos were, the house having been completely obliterated into a pile of rocks.

Ears ringing, Aramis leaped up to run toward it. "Porthos!" He barely made it a step before Athos was grabbing him and roughly yanking him back down just as more gunfire pelted their meager cover. Aramis dug his heels into the ground and pressed his back up against the low wall as he fought to compose himself. The two of them were pinned down and couldn't do anything to help Porthos and d'Artagnan at the moment. If they were even still alive…

Giving himself a sharp shake, Aramis gritted his teeth and shot up to fire back over the wall. They were grossly outnumbered, though, based on how quickly their enemy was able to reload between barrages.

"Rhaego!" he yelled.

The explosion and gunfire should have alerted the dragons to trouble, so why hadn't they come charging in yet? Aramis flicked a glance up the road toward where they'd left their dragons, but there was no sign of them.

Athos fired another round and quickly ducked back down. "We can't stay here," he said breathlessly.

A few more shots pinged against the wall.

Aramis gave a brisk nod. There wasn't enough cover, and if their enemy managed to get close enough to surprise them, they wouldn't have time to get up off the ground to defend themselves. He looked at the open distance between them and the demolished building.

Athos was evaluating it as well. "You first."

Aramis nodded, and they both took a moment to reload their pistols. Aramis gave his second one to Athos. Then he snatched up his musket and took a deep breath.

Athos shared a look with him. "Now."

Aramis bolted as Athos shot up to lay down cover fire. The crack of pistols echoed behind him, but he couldn't afford to look at how many were shooting and where. He ran all out until he was close enough to dive the rest of the way behind the rubble. Looking across the patch of open ground, he saw Athos once again lying pressed against the wall. Aramis raised his pistol at the ready and waited for Athos's signal.

Athos shifted, preparing to break cover, and nodded. Aramis swung around the edge of the rubble to shoot at the tree line as Athos made a run for it. From this vantage point, Aramis could finally see a handful of the men laying down the assault.

One shot against several wasn't much for cover fire, and the rounds kept coming as Athos tried to reach safety. A ball struck the ground on his heels, spitting up dirt. Athos almost stumbled, and Aramis surged out from behind the rocks to grab his arm and haul him the rest of the way in. Then they both sagged against the rubble, breathing heavily.

Aramis quickly twisted around and felt along the debris. "Porthos! D'Artagnan!" His heart hammered inside his chest. They couldn't be dead, they couldn't… "Porthos!"

Neither of them responded. They were buried under a mountain of wreckage, and the odds of them surviving were…

Aramis wrenched away from the thought with a gasp. He threw a harried look up at the road again, but there was still no sign of their dragons.

Athos peered around the edge of the ruins and jerked back as a shot struck the rock. He swung back around and immediately returned fire.

Aramis blinked hot moisture out of his eyes and reloaded his pistol so he could help Athos defend their position before they were overrun and killed as well.

.o.0.o.

The dragons lingered idly along the road where their riders had left them. It was a pleasant enough day, though who really preferred sitting out on the action? Not Rhaego, certainly. Nor Ayelet. Vrita was content to enjoy the fresh air and scents out in the countryside. Savron, of course, remained a stoic sentinel.

A breeze tickled Rhaego's nose, bringing with it a faint scent he couldn't immediately identify. He turned his face toward it, curious to get a better whiff, but his attention was abruptly disrupted by the sounds of peppered gunfire. He whipped his gaze toward the direction their musketeers had gone. Beside him, Ayelet straightened in alarm, wings flexing with the urge to take flight. Yet before any of them could rush to their riders' aid, men came surging out from the nearby tree line.

A crossbow bolt zinged through the air and struck Savron in the neck. He shrieked and reeled backward, the bolt having pierced his scales and embedded itself there. Acimite.

Rhaego spun toward the men with a snarl and kindled the fire in his belly. Several pulled up short and threw a handful of bombs. The small devices detonated when they hit the ground with a brilliant flash that whited out Rhaego's senses. He staggered back into Savron, thrashing his head with a roar as he tried to clear his vision. Something exploded in the distance with a shockwave that rumbled through the air and vibrated Rhaego's eardrums. An acimite ball struck his flank, the pieces shattering the instant they pierced his hide, and he screeched. Vrita's and Ayelet's screams echoed around him.

He blinked furiously, and when he could finally see again, he spotted Vrita's and Ayelet's wings caught in large netting. With a bellowing roar, he spun and spewed a column of fire in an arc, briefly creating a protective barrier between them and their attackers. He then rushed over and grabbed the netting on Ayelet with both his claws and fangs, doing his best to rip it off. He then turned to do the same for Vrita but took another bullet to his side.

Savron roared and charged through the dwindling flames toward the humans, but he didn't get far before he was shot as well, the strike making him stumble and fall.

Rhaego wrenched himself to the side and lumbered toward the tree line where he again used his talons and teeth to rip a tree right out of the ground, roots and all. He flung the large trunk at the attacking men, who yelled and tried to dive out of the way. Rhaego followed through with a stream of fire to light it up.

He turned back to his den mates. They needed to reach defensible ground—and their riders. With a rallying cry, he urged them to move and make for the field on the other side of the road.

.o.0.o.

Porthos woke with a gasp, a terrible pressure on his chest and dust clogging his nose and throat. A bout of coughing tore through him, sending jolts of pain through his torso as the unrelenting weight on top of him refused to give against the jerking of his body. His eyes watered as grit clung to his lashes. He grunted and tried to move his arms…but he couldn't. He couldn't move at all.

His heart lurched up into his throat and he blinked furiously to clear his watery vision. He was surrounded by gray and sharp edges. Rubble. He was buried in rubble.

His chest automatically tightened with terror and he strained harder against the debris all around him. He managed to dislodge a small piece so his right arm could move from his elbow down, but that was all. He could feel his legs—they ached dully—but he couldn't move them from underneath the pile of rocks keeping them pinned. Flashbacks of the time he'd been trapped in the mineshaft came flooding back, and his lungs seized, unable to draw in breath.

He bucked desperately, to no avail. Another desperate gulp of air only made him inhale more dust, which caused another round of hacking. When it was finally over, he lay there, spent and wheezing. Porthos tried to get himself under control. This wasn't the mine. Besides, he'd survived that; he'd survive this too. He wasn't trapped deep inside a mountain, just in a house that had somehow blown up…

Porthos stiffened as he suddenly remembered he wasn't alone. "D'Artagnan?" he called hoarsely. He tried to crane his neck around, but even that movement was restricted. However, his gaze caught on a limp hand poking out from some more rubble, skin gray and slightly abraded. And just a few inches up from that was a head of dust-laden dark hair.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos cried, voice breaking as he stretched and strained to reach him. His fingers brushed lax ones and spasmed around them. "Come on," he begged.

Somewhere above all this wreckage he could hear the echo of gunfire.

"D'Artagnan." Tears of desperation and helplessness mixed with the grime on Porthos's face, making his eyes sting.

After a long moment with the sounds of battle raging outside, d'Artagnan's fingers twitched and he squeezed back.

Porthos choked on a sob. "Hang on," he said, holding on with everything he had. "Hang on, d'Artagnan!"

.o.0.o.

Athos fired another round at the unknown assailants who seemed hellbent on killing the last two musketeers left standing after their initial assault. He hadn't been able to get a full headcount yet, but he'd spotted at least half a dozen men in the trees shooting at them. He flung himself behind the cover of the rubble again to reload when two men came surging around the corner from the opposite end of the demolished house, blades brandished. While the musketeers had concentrated their shooting on one side, their enemy had circled around behind them.

Athos dropped his pistol and swiftly drew his sword and parrying dagger. Aramis threw a harried glance their direction before continuing to focus on the men still shooting at them.

Athos swung his blade at one opponent and blocked a blow from the second with his dagger. With a deft twist of his wrist, he torqued the first's blade away and lashed out with a kick to his kneecap. Then he spun and slashed at the other man. That one parried the strike and riposted. Athos's steel caught his with a discordant screech and he swung the hand holding the dagger like a punch, the end of the hilt hitting the man's temple. Athos then pivoted in time to deflect a blow from the first man. Hooking his foot around the man's ankle, he swept his leg out from under him and followed his descent with a thrust of his dagger, piercing him through the heart.

Athos staggered upright and darted to the opposite end of the wreckage to see if any more men were trying to come at them from that direction. The way was clear at the moment. The echo of gunfire had also ceased. The two musketeers used the short reprieve to take stock of their ammunition.

"I only have a dozen shots left," Aramis said grimly.

Athos's heart plummeted as he counted his. "I have five."

Aramis dropped his head back against the stone rubble, then peeked out around the edge toward the trees. "Something's wrong. The dragons should have come by now."

Athos had already come to that conclusion. It was clear this entire thing had been a trap.

Aramis picked up his musket and began to climb up to the top of the ruins where he flattened himself as much as possible over the uneven surface. For a long moment he simply perched there, scanning the tree line. Then he let out a curse in Spanish Athos hadn't heard in a long time.

"What is it?" he called.

"Boudier," Aramis growled. "He's behind this."

Athos processed that information with grim realization. The man had come prepared as usual…and he'd already shown he knew how to hunt dragons. Athos couldn't help but flick a look at the road and open field, gut twisting at the fact their dragons were nowhere to be seen. And Porthos and d'Artagnan were…

A shot cracked the air and a ball struck the rubble near Aramis's face. The marksman jerked back and fell from his perch, hitting the ground with a roll hard. Athos scrambled over and grabbed his shoulders roughly, searching for if he'd been hit. Aramis grimaced as he pushed himself up, seemingly unhurt. He uttered another invective in Spanish.

But that was the end of their reprieve, and Athos caught sight of more men charging across the field toward them to breach their line of defense. He snatched up his sword again to meet them while Aramis climbed back up the rubble to shoot at others trying to cross the field.

But with no help coming, it was only a matter of time before they were overtaken.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis reloaded his musket as swiftly as his dexterous fingers allowed, but even his speed wasn't enough to keep up with the enemy bombardment. And he was almost out of ammunition.

A resounding roar suddenly rent the air, and he jerked his head to the left where the Musketeer dragons finally came cresting over a small knoll. Savron was airborne, swooping low over the ground while the others lumbered behind on foot. Vrita's wings were tangled in a net, but that didn't stop her from charging right down the center of the field and belching out a stream of fire at the men who'd been closing in on Aramis's and Athos's position. They yelled and immediately retreated under the blistering onslaught.

Savron stumbled to a landing at the edge of the rubble, and Aramis noticed a shaft protruding from the side of his neck. Rhaego and Ayelet were last, loping across the ground as a horde of men with an assortment of dragon hunting weapons gave chase. The mercenaries pulled up short and exchanged some shouts with the men at the tree line, then began to spread out to surround the musketeers. Even with the dragons now with them, Aramis wasn't feeling that emboldened by their chances. These men had obviously come prepared for war against both musketeer and dragon—and were so far winning.

Aramis set his musket down and hurried to Savron to examine the bolt in his neck. For it to have penetrated his hard scales, it had to be made of acimite. The alloy was strong enough to pierce dragon hide, but the strength it required took the metal past its breaking point, and almost always resulted in the acimite fracturing inside the wound tract.

Aramis gestured for Savron to lower his head so he could reach it better. The dragon obliged, eyes squinted in pain. Aramis broke off the protruding shaft, and Savron bit back a grunt. He'd need his med kit to dig out the splinters.

Aramis turned to find his dragon just as more gunfire began to bombard them again. "We need cover!" he yelled. There wasn't enough room now that the dragons were there and they were mostly exposed.

Savron responded by digging away at some of the rubble, carving a trough into the center of the wreckage and building up more protective barriers to the sides. Rhaego and Ayelet moved in to help. Athos was still trying to cut Vrita's wings free, but the netting was a tangled mess.

Ayelet suddenly reared back and whipped her gaze around, then squawked urgently at Aramis.

His heart constricted. "D'Artagnan and Porthos were inside when the building blew," he reluctantly told her.

Her eyes went wide and she turned back to digging at the rubble frantically. Vrita let out a high-pitched keen.

"One of you needs to fly for help," Athos put in sharply.

Aramis scanned the dragons, marking the various rivulets of blood streaming down their hides from a myriad of wounds. None of them were uninjured, though that bolt in Savron's neck was most certainly worrisome. Aramis jabbed a finger at the silverback and shook his head for him to stay put.

Rhaego barked and immediately backed up out of the ruins, flapping his wings to take off when he had enough clearance. But he'd barely made it ten feet into the air before the sound of a cannon boomed. Aramis's heart lurched into his throat as a set of weighted ropes came flying through the air and lashed around one wing, bringing Rhaego down.

Ayelet rushed out with a cry, skidding to a stop and whirling toward the men who'd been about to charge at their vulnerable position. She spewed a geyser of fire that forced them back as Rhaego staggered to his feet and hobbled back into the ruins for cover. Ayelet quickly followed, and Vrita reared up over the top of the wreckage to breathe a column of flame across the ground on the other side, deterring further encroachment from that angle.

Aramis hurried over and cut the ropes away from Rhaego's wing. The barrage of gunfire had ceased again now that it seemed they were all at a stalemate. For the moment. It wouldn't last forever, though, since these men were clearly determined to annihilate them. At least Aramis and Athos were able to get some more ammunition from their saddlebags. Aramis also grabbed his med kit and went back to Savron to do what he could for that bolt.

He exchanged a grim look with Athos on the way. With the dragons unable to escape and go for help, they were sitting ducks.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan took in a shallow breath, trying not to inhale more dust and ignite a coughing fit that would spike the pain throughout his body. He didn't think anything was broken—miraculously. Every inch of him hurt in equal measure, and he was just as trapped as Porthos, unable to move enough to shift any of the rubble. Not that that would've been a wise idea; they could just as easily trigger a collapse that would finish them off.

D'Artagnan's chest hitched. He didn't want to die. He'd survived two years of war and made it home to Constance; he couldn't die now, not like this.

"Hey," Porthos grunted. "You still wit' me?"

Porthos's fingers twitched around d'Artagnan's and he squeezed back. They'd kept clinging to each other, the only lifeline in the face of helpless defeat. D'Artagnan couldn't see his friend from his position, but he could hold on.

"Yeah," he replied, breathing strained.

The sounds of gunfire outside had petered out, but the ensuing silence gnawed at d'Artagnan's nerves. They had no idea what was happening out there, where Athos and Aramis were. If they were even still alive. If anyone was coming for them. If they even knew to come for them…

"I didn't think it'd end like this," d'Artagnan blurted, voice cracking.

"It ain't over yet," Porthos said staunchly.

D'Artagnan tried to shift, but it didn't work. There was too much rock pressing down on him, keeping him pinned in this tomb. He now understood how Porthos had felt in that mineshaft a few years ago. He was utterly helpless, unable to do anything to fight back.

"Hey," Porthos said fervently and gave d'Artagnan's hand a small shake. "We're gonna get out of this. We refuse to die, you hear me?"

D'Artagnan closed his eyes against a swell of grief.

"Say it with me," Porthos urged. "We refuse to die."

"We refuse to die," d'Artagnan whispered.

They fell quiet after that, and after the long moments stretched out for a while, d'Artagnan's heart skipped a beat. "Porthos?"

"'M here," came the hoarse reply.

They were both in rough shape, and despite their stalwart declarations, sheer force of will could only get them so far. And it was so quiet above them.

"Athos and Aramis…"

"They'll get to us," Porthos said firmly.

D'Artagnan wanted to believe that. Such hope had certainly come through for them in the past when they'd been in pretty bad situations before. But that only made a part of him wonder whether his luck was finally going to run out.

"I have so much left I want to do," he spoke softly into the silence. Words were all he had now, and maybe speaking them aloud would give them the power to still come true. "I can't die without seeing Constance's face again, or the children we'll have someday. I always thought we would have that, that I would teach them to ride and shoot and love."

"You'll have that," Porthos said with full conviction. It warmed d'Artagnan's heart to hear it.

A somber silence descended once more, until Porthos spoke again a moment later.

"I have none of that," he said, voice mournful. "No wife, no children, no one."

"You have us," d'Artagnan said ardently, giving his friend's hand a squeeze. "And I have no doubt you will have a wife and child of your own one day."

"Yeah," Porthos murmured. "I want that."

D'Artagnan gripped his hand more firmly. "We refuse to die," he repeated.

"We refuse to die," Porthos echoed.

They said the mantra together, again and again, shouting it to the universe as they clung to each other in the darkness with all they had left.

.o.0.o.

Vrita sat hunkered down in the cramped space among the rubble as Athos and Aramis carefully cut away the rest of the netting still wrapped around her wings. She barely noticed, head hung low in sorrow for her rider. She wanted to find his body, but they were all still in grave danger and this momentary reprieve from attack needed to be used to assess and nurse their wounds.

Aramis had removed the bolt from Savron's neck and extracted a few fragments of acimite, but there wasn't time to do a more thorough debridement when there was other triage to see to. All of them had taken acimite bullets in a few places, though nowhere fatal. Yet. Vrita was under no illusion they weren't in a bad position. It wasn't often dragons found themselves outmatched.

Ayelet was also curled in on herself, sniffing despondently as Rhaego tried to comfort her. There was no comfort to be had for a lost partner, though.

"Almost got it," Aramis grunted as he sliced through another piece of rope.

The last of the netting finally fell away, though Vrita didn't flex her wings in response. She didn't need one of those wretched mercenaries taking a shot and grounding her again.

Savron gave her a doleful look, which she looked away from. Her heart hurt too much. She knew she couldn't succumb to her grief, not yet. Porthos would want her to look after his brothers, to fight to protect Athos and Aramis with the same fierceness she would him.

Her ears pricked with a faint sound, and she concentrated her senses, listening for whether their enemy were attempting another ambush. But it wasn't stealthy sounds she was hearing from afar, it was harsher, louder, almost like shouting. It sounded like…

Vrita snapped her head up in realization. Shuffling closer to the center of the piled rubble, she bent her ear to the rock and strained to listen. Her rider's baritone coupled with another familiar voice echoed up from below. She squawked in dismay and began urgently digging at the wreckage.

Aramis and Athos stumbled as she bumped against them in her frantic haste.

"Vrita?" Aramis queried in concern. "Vrita…"

She paused long enough to snort at him before resuming her digging, shouting at Ayelet that she could hear d'Artagnan too. Ayelet bounded over, nearly knocking the two humans to the ground, and joined Vrita's efforts. As they clawed more rock away, the voices below became clearer. Vrita screeched, and a moment later was rewarded with the most beautiful sound.

"Vrita?"

"Porthos?" Aramis exclaimed. "Porthos!"

"Here! We're here!"

"Hold on!" Athos yelled, trying to wedge his way forward, but there was no room with Vrita and Ayelet crowding the small space.

The two dragons wrenched more rubble away until finally a head of curly hair covered in dust was exposed.

"Move," Aramis barked, nudging Vrita's shoulder.

She gurgled in complaint even as she backed up so the humans could remove the smaller bits of debris away. Porthos's arm flailed desperately until Aramis grasped it and pulled. Athos heaved another chunk of rock aside, making a gap big enough for Porthos to crawl out through. He stumbled out, doubled over and coughing.

"D'Artagnan," he wheezed, gesturing sharply behind him.

Athos bent down and reached into the hole, and a moment later hauled out Ayelet's rider. Ayelet chirped in elation as d'Artagnan staggered a few feet and collapsed next to Porthos on the ground.

"Water," Aramis ordered as he knelt in front of them.

Athos hurried to Savron's saddle to grab a canteen.

"Praise God you're alive," Aramis gushed. "I feared…"

Porthos reached out and clasped the marksman's forearm, giving a breathless nod in understanding.

"Where are you hurt?" Aramis asked urgently.

Porthos shook his head, then accepted the canteen Athos handed to him. "Banged up but in one piece." He took a deep swig of water and passed the canteen to d'Artagnan.

Aramis didn't take Porthos's word for it and went about methodically checking their limbs for breaks. "You are indeed in one piece," he declared when he was finished.

With the medic's clearance, Vrita leaned forward and nudged Porthos's shoulder. He winced but reached up to pat her nose.

"I'm alright," he said roughly.

Ayelet shifted her weight from side to side as she tried to squeeze her way closer to d'Artagnan. The young Gascon smiled at her.

"I'm alright too."

"What happened?" Porthos asked.

"Boudier," Athos replied. "This was all an elaborate trap."

"We're pinned down," Aramis added.

D'Artagnan straightened in alarm. "Ayelet's bleeding!"

"Boudier's men ambushed the dragons as well," Athos explained. "They're all injured, and these men have the means to prevent them from going for help."

"So," Porthos started, "we're in trouble."

The musketeers and their dragons exchanged grim looks. Yes, they were.


	4. Chapter 4

Athos leaned against the wall of rubble, peering through a small gap at the line of men both to the west and north of them. The east and south was wide open fields with no cover, and they'd already discovered making a run for it was too dangerous. Yet so was staying put.

He glanced at Porthos and d'Artagnan sitting on the ground and passing the canteen back and forth as small, persistent coughs pestered them. Around them, the dragons' many wounds continued to ooze sluggishly.

"Musketeers!" a gravelly voice called out. Boudier. "Surrender, and I will make your deaths quick!"

Porthos snorted derisively, then coughed into his arm. Athos shared a look with Aramis.

"I'm afraid we'll have to decline that most generous offer!" the marksman shouted back.

On that note, Boudier signaled his men to start encroaching on the wreckage again. Athos and Aramis leaned around the edge of the rubble as far as they dared to shoot back. Ayelet climbed up over the top of the debris and spewed a stream of fire, but she presented too big a target, and an acimite ball went skimming across her neck. She reeled back with a yelp and ducked down again.

Aramis cursed under his breath. "The dragons can't keep taking so many hits."

Athos's lips thinned into a tight line. He knew that. And he knew it was only a matter of time before Boudier and his men broke through their line of defense. They were fish in a barrel here.

Athos turned to face his friends, his brothers. "There's only one thing left to do," he said with resignation. "Fight and die like musketeers."

Porthos and d'Artagnan immediately shared aggrieved looks at that, something secret passing between them. But after a moment, they both pushed themselves to their feet and drew their swords.

Aramis nodded grimly and stepped forward, extending his hand out. "All for one."

Porthos and d'Artagnan put their hands over his. Athos placed his on top.

"And one for all."

They broke apart, mustering themselves for a last stand. The dragons shared resolute looks as well. They checked their pistols, guns in one hand and swords in the other. Yet before they could make their final charge, gunfire erupted anew, followed by harried shouts from the mercenaries. Athos frowned and poked his head out from the rubble. Boudier's men weren't firing at the ruins; they were shooting at none other than Treville and the Musketeer cadets gathered at the end of the road.

Athos exchanged a stunned look with the others, which quickly turned to one of renewed vigor. They now had a chance. With Boudier's forces now split between two fronts, the musketeers and their dragons weren't making a defiant death charge; they burst from their cover, shooting bullets and fire as the mercenaries struggled to defend themselves from the Musketeer reinforcements.

Vrita and Ayelet went for the troop armed with nets and acimite, crashing through their line like stampeding bulls. Porthos and d'Artagnan followed their dragons to take out any who dared tried to shoot at them some more.

Athos, Aramis, and their dragons went for Boudier and his contingent along the tree line. Several men scattered in the face of two raging dragons, only to be met by Treville and the cadets. The strident screech of steel echoed in cacophony with the shrieking dragons. With the tides turned, it wasn't long before the Musketeers proved victorious.

Athos walked past a string of bodies toward Treville. "Minister," he greeted. "Fancy seeing you here."

Treville smirked. "When you didn't return after what should have been a simple exchange, I had a bad feeling. Rounded up the cadets and set out immediately. Besides, they needed a good training exercise."

Athos hummed appreciatively as he watched the young lads round up a handful of prisoners who'd surrendered. "Your timing was impeccable."

"This was not a simple exchange," Treville remarked.

"No. It was a trap for us. Raymon Boudier was behind it."

Treville's brow furrowed. "Boudier. He's the one who stole the regiment's gunpowder?"

"And attempted to rob the King's vault."

Not to mention he also tried to capture and sell a bunch of free dragons, but that one wasn't in any report.

"Ambitious," Treville commented, roving his gaze around the bloody scene. "He came prepared for war."

"He very nearly won," Athos said soberly. He turned to scan the tree line, wondering if the weasel had escaped yet again.

But a dragon chirp from above drew his attention, and he stared in surprise as Rhaego swooped down, none other than Boudier captured in his talons. The russet dragon dropped his prisoner unceremoniously on the ground at Athos's feet, then landed himself.

Boudier rolled away from the dragon's claws frantically, only to stop when he realized he was caught.

"Raymon Boudier," Treville said with satisfaction. "You are under arrest for multiple counts of highway robbery and attempted murder."

Boudier scowled as Athos and Aramis moved in to haul him to his feet and tie his hands behind his back.

"Where is the shipment you stole from the King?" Treville demanded.

Boudier merely glowered at him.

The First Minister waved to a handful of cadets. "Search the area in the woods for the King's supplies."

"We need to get back to Paris as soon as possible," Aramis interjected. "The dragons are in desperate need of Jean's care, and Porthos and d'Artagnan should be checked by a physician."

"'M fine," Porthos groused. "But he's right about the dragons. They took a lot of hits."

Treville nodded. "If they can fly, the four of you can head back now."

Athos threw a hesitant look at Savron. His dragon was definitely in need of medical attention, but Athos couldn't leave Treville and a bunch of cadets to escort these dangerous criminals home by themselves. They'd need the dragons. And all four of them were injured enough that he couldn't even choose the two least wounded to stay behind.

"With all due respect, Minister, we won't be taking any chances."

Boudier looked smug at that, and Porthos gave him a rough shove in response.

"Very well," Treville said in understanding. "Secure the prisoners for transport."

Boudier and five of his accomplices were bound and tied to horses' saddles. It would be a slow journey back but worth it, especially when a few of the cadets returned with the wagon shipment containing the King's medicine. With everything recovered, they finally set off toward home.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan was nearly dead on his feet by the time they arrived back in Paris. Their company split up from there—Treville and the cadets would finish taking the prisoners to the Chatelet and the musketeers would fly their dragons the rest of the way home since four of them couldn't very well walk the whole way through the crowded city streets. Treville would meet them at the compound with the wagon shipment.

Aramis again mentioned summoning the royal physician to check over d'Artagnan and Porthos, but they refused. They were bruised and sore but not seriously injured. That long walk back would have revealed a hidden problem if there was one. It was the dragons that needed all the attention. All four of them needed acimite fragments extracted from their wounds. D'Artagnan, unfortunately, wasn't steady enough after what he'd been through to do any surgery himself, so all he could do was sit by Ayelet's side and soothe her discomfort as Constance dug out splinters from multiple bullet wounds. Rhaego was also by Ayelet's side, watching the process worriedly and putting off his own injuries for the moment. Aramis was seeing to Vrita with Porthos looking on while Athos assisted Jean with Savron.

Despite the numerous injuries that needed tending, nothing had penetrated too deeply to cause major damage. There was still a risk of infection, especially if a sliver of acimite was missed, but everyone was being extremely thorough and d'Artagnan knew the dragons were in the most capable hands.

The debridement procedures were still in process when Treville and the cadets arrived with the wagon shipment.

"Everything go okay?" Athos asked, expression pinched in concern.

"Boudier and his men are securely locked up in the Chatelet," Treville confirmed. "How is everyone here?"

"No permanent damage," Jean answered as he cleaned the wound in Savron's neck. "Though this one might want to avoid any fire breathing until this heals."

Savron blinked up at him with pain-glazed eyes.

Treville nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. Athos, I know you would probably rather be here, but as captain of the recent mission…"

"I should be there when you present the recovered goods to the King," Athos finished. He gave his dragon a reluctant look before turning away and leaving him in Jean's care.

Aramis finished with Vrita and called Rhaego over. The red dragon gave Ayelet a reluctant look of his own before pulling himself away.

D'Artagnan watched Constance finish up the last of Ayelet's wounds.

"There we go," she said, stroking their dragon's forehead. "All done."

Ayelet mewled softly but then rose to her feet and hobbled over to take her turn sitting vigil next to Rhaego as he endured his treatment. D'Artagnan shook his head at those two.

With most of the urgent work taken care of, d'Artagnan snagged Constance's arm and pulled her aside, covering her mouth with his in a fervent kiss. He didn't care that anyone could see them if they glanced over.

He broke away with a gasp and cupped the sides of her head, pressing their foreheads together. "I was so scared I would never see you again," he confessed. "I'm sorry."

"Shh." She folded her arms around him, holding tight. "You're home now." But there was a crack in her voice that betrayed how equally fraught she was over the close call.

"You should make sure he gets some rest," Aramis called over casually.

D'Artagnan was about to toss a scowl back at him, but Constance took his hand and squeezed.

"I will," she said.

With that, she gave him a gentle tug and d'Artagnan followed. His leaden footsteps trailed her back to the garrison and to their quarters. There, Constance guided him to sit in a chair and then went into the back room. She returned a few moments later with a bowl of water and towels. It showed how drained d'Artagnan was that he didn't realize what she was doing until she'd wet a towel and brought it up to his face to begin to wipe the grime off.

He reached a hand up to still her arm. "I can do it."

Constance shushed him. "Let me," she said softly.

He never could deny her when she spoke like that, so he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, basking in the gentle touch of his loving wife.

.o.0.o.

Louis stood in the palace courtyard, fidgeting as Doctor Delacroix looked over the shipment of medical supplies the Musketeers had retrieved from the thieves.

"Is it all there?" he asked anxiously.

The royal physician took another moment to count the stock, then stepped back and nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Everything from the order is present."

Louis nearly melted into a puddle right there, his knees going wobbly with relief. He wasn't going to run out of opium and suffer horrendously from it.

"Good work, Captain Athos," he remembered to say, falling back on casual propriety.

Athos bowed. "The person behind the theft has also been arrested, Sire."

"Excellent. I would hate for this to happen again."

He saw Athos and Treville exchange a subtle glance at that. No doubt they were curious about the nature of his ailment and whether there would be any future medical shipments that might need to be protected. Louis would deal with that when it came, perhaps conscript some city guards to handle an escort duty, make it look like such shipments were a priority for the city, not the royal house specifically. But that was tomorrow's problem, and right now he really needed a dose of his medication.

With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed everyone, shooting Doctor Delacroix a sharp look on his way back inside, indicating the physician should get the opium and meet him in his apartments immediately.

.o.0.o.

Boudier sat alone in his prison cell, mentally cursing the Musketeers. How was it they had thwarted him at every single turn? He'd had it all planned out this time, had had them dead to rights! But not a single one of them was dead, not even the two he'd managed to blow up! It was unfathomable. And infuriating. And to add insult to injury, he'd been caught and thrown in prison.

He needed to think of a way to escape. He'd engineered a prison break once before.

But he'd been on the outside and had hired men to help. After what happened today, Boudier didn't think there'd be many willing to go up against the Musketeers.

He surged to his feet and kicked at the straw on the floor in a fit of rage.

The clack of boots on stone pricked his ears; the gait was steady, assured…pompous. He waited as a plump man with long stringy hair in fine robes entered his field of vision and came to a stop in front of his cell.

"Raymon Boudier," the man mused out loud. "I have heard quite a lot about your…entrepreneurial ventures."

Boudier didn't bother to respond. Was this the magistrate already?

"Pity the Musketeers keep getting in the way."

Boudier's gaze darkened.

The large man regarded him for another beat. "I think we have mutual goals and could benefit one another."

"Oh? How so?"

"For starters, come work under my employment. Unless you would rather stay here…"

Boudier narrowed his eyes. He usually worked for himself, but the offer of release from prison was certainly tantalizing.

"I come work for you and I, what, just walk out of here?"

The man's mouth curved upward. "Exactly." He waved to someone standing a few paces behind him.

A man in a city guard uniform stepped up to the cell and inserted a key into the lock, clicking it open.

"Well?" the plump man prompted. "What do you say?"

Boudier stalked forward and held out his shackled wrists. The city guard unlocked those too. Boudier grinned.

"I say, this looks like the start of a fruitful partnership."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> The Spanish have new weapons that could decimate the Musketeer dragons on the front. Meanwhile, Clara comes to Paris seeking Porthos's help with her dragons.


End file.
